


Unexpected Development

by zorb



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-08-14
Updated: 2002-08-14
Packaged: 2017-10-07 15:25:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/66450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zorb/pseuds/zorb





	Unexpected Development

Ron Weasley was hacked off.

This wasn’t an unusual state for him. Ron was generally angry at, or at least somewhat annoyed by, something or someone at any given point in time, although he took breaks for special occasions. 

Right now, though, his degree of irritation was at the level commonly referred to as livid. And it was all because of one Draco Malfoy.

***

Draco Malfoy was hacked off.

Not that he would call it something so base; he’d be much more inclined to refer to it as righteous indignation, or perhaps justified ire. He’d had a lot of practice naming his various degrees of annoyance because he was so often in them.

This time, however, his anger had reached a point such that even he might be tempted to call it exactly what it was – infuriated. And it was all because of one Ron Weasley.

***

Ron and the other seventh year Gryffindors, along with Ginny and a few of her friends, had been having a leisurely lunch at their table. Ron had been in the midst of a lecture from his sister for laughing when Colin Creevey snorted pumpkin juice through his nose (while Hermione was attempting to clean the poor boy up), when he’d felt someone’s eyes boring into the back of his head. He whipped around to determine the perpetrator and found himself staring straight at the Slytherin ringleader. The bastard sneered back at him, though Ron was certain he’d caught him off guard for a moment. Ron narrowed his own eyes, and with a smirk, Malfoy turned to talk to one of his cronies. 

Ron, seething, watched him for a few moments before turning back around. That was the third time this week he’d caught the blond leering at Ginny in what could only be called a predatory and lustful way. Ron had kept his observations to himself, and luckily, Ginny seemed oblivious to the Ferret’s long looks. Her brother was absolutely disgusted. Didn’t Malfoy get enough adoration from his own housemates? Harry’s voice called him back to his friends, and Ron did his best to calm his boiling blood, hoping his red face would go unnoticed. After all, he had won their staring match, hadn’t he?

But why did he feel like he was losing?

***

There was only one thought going through Draco’s mind, and that thought was, “Bastard!” Bloody Weasley! Always glaring at Draco for no reason whatsoever. Sure, there was all the past sniping and occasionally fighting between them, but really, the Look of Death he’d been giving Draco lately was uncalled for. This was the third time this week that he’d been distracted from his fine-tuned mysterious brooding by the Weasel’s harsh glares. As always, he’d brushed it off with the degree of confidence one would expect from a Malfoy. Had to keep up the reputation, of course.

Weasley was probably jealous. This was unsurprising, as Draco had everything that the redhead didn’t – devastating good looks, the adoration and leadership of his House, and of course, piles of money. It was no wonder that the Gryffindor couldn’t take his eyes off of Draco.

He ignored the nagging question of why he always seemed to be facing in exactly the direction from which Weasley’s glares originated.

***

“Harry! Get your arse down here!” Ron called up the stairs from the Common Room. The seventh years were in a flurry of excitement about tonight’s big Hogsmeade trip, the staff’s gift to the leaving students before the reality of exams and N.E.W.T.s overtook them. The Gryffindors had gathered to go down to the carriages together and were only awaiting their most famous member. Dean, Seamus and Neville were making a list of everything they wanted to do tonight, Lavender was fixing Parvati’s braid, and Hermione kept glancing at her watch in a transparent attempt to hide the excitement she felt at being able to spend a Head Girl duty-free night out with her boyfriend, Terry Boot. As soon as Harry flew down the stairs, still futilely trying to flatten his hair, they were off.

They found the rest of the seventh years waiting outside the front entrance, and Ron caught a glimpse of Malfoy climbing into a carriage with his Slytherin cronies. At least he wouldn’t have to keep a watch on him tonight; he could relax, confident in the knowledge that Ferret Boy was well separated from his sister. In fact, Ron had such a good feeling about tonight that he was determined to put all annoyances out of his mind.

Once they reached Hogsmeade, the seventh years headed to the Three Broomsticks en masse. The Trio took immediate possession of the large table in the corner, and they were joined at various times by other Gryffindors, some Ravenclaws, and the occasional Hufflepuff. The butterbeer was flowing and the jokes were painful – in short, an excellent time was soon being had by all.

Ron couldn’t help noticing Malfoy holding court in the corner opposite the Gryffindor table. For once, it seemed like they were leaving their usual targets alone and entering into the spirit of carefree fun. Then Ron did a double take.

Malfoy was staring – again! 

What was with that blond lecher? Currently, the only female at their table was Hermione. How dare he! This was almost as bad as staring at Ginny had been; not only was Hermione like Ron’s other, bossier sister, but for crying out loud, you just don’t hit on another wizard’s witch! 

Maybe it was one too many butterbeers, or maybe he’d just had enough of this crap, but Ron decided that it was time to put an end to it once and for all. He slammed his mug on the table (“Dammit, Ron, you got foam in my eye!”), rose and strode directly over to the Slytherin group.

***

Draco was enjoying his evening. It allowed him to sit back and bask in the adulation for once, and he didn’t have to worry about keeping his wit up to its usual biting standard. Sipping calmly at his butterbeer, he’d sunk into a contented trance, but he couldn’t help but notice the sudden hush in the merrymaking.

There was Weasley, glaring at him again! Except this time he wasn’t merely glaring – he was stalking directly towards Draco. Good lord, one would think that someone with hair as brilliantly red as that would have inherited a higher tolerance for butterbeer! None of the other Gryffindors seemed to be in on this latest plot; Granger was looking puzzled and concerned, as was Potter, when he wasn’t wiping his eye and blinking rapidly.

Draco sighed and adopted an expression of cool disdain. Handling Weasley was something he’d become quite good at over the years. It wasn’t a trial at all…in fact, he rather enjoyed their little encounters. Never felt fully “Draco” if he hadn’t at least sneered at him that day.

Right now, though, it looked like he’d get a chance to do a lot more than sneer. If Draco were to be completely honest with himself, he would have to admit that there was a tiny quake in his confidence. Buried deep beneath the looks, the power, and the money, there was a tiny bit of fear of this boy and what he represented. 

The redhead reached Draco’s table. Contrary to expectation, Weasley didn’t immediately go into a tirade. Instead, he placed his hands firmly on the table (and Draco noticed their size, trying to calculate how much they’d overlap going around his neck) and spoke in a low, menacing voice, never taking his piercing gaze off of Draco. “Malfoy. Outside. Now.” 

Draco considered his options, and came quickly to a decision. He arched an eyebrow (and tried to watch the swooning girls from the corner of his eye) and said boredly, “As you wish, Weasel. Wouldn’t want to make a scene and ruin everyone’s evening.” His friends took the cue and slid aside so that he could leave the booth. Weasley tried to grab him by the arm, but Draco yanked it away and led them outside.

As soon as the two had departed, the entire Hogwarts class of 1998 rushed to the windows.

***

Ron didn’t let Malfoy get a single sarcastic comment in; he had the upper hand, and damn it if he wasn’t determined to come out on top. “I know what your game is, Malfoy, and I’m telling you right now, cut it out. Or else.”

The Eyebrow arched even higher. Ron wondered how much higher he could make it…or, ahem, that it could go. Right. Draco responded, “My game, Weasley? Correct me if I’m wrong, but aren’t you the one whose sole obsession of late has been yours truly?” 

Ron sputtered. “What are you talking about, Ferret? Every time I turn around, you’re looking at either my sister or my best friend like you’re about to jump them.”

Yes, the Eyebrow could indeed go higher. “I have no idea what you mean, Weasel. Why on Earth would I waste my time with Gryffindor bitc-” Ron cut him off with a fist to the face.

Draco suppressed all but a whimper of the cry of pain threatening to escape. He immediately regretted his remark, not only because of the physical pain that accompanied it. “Sorry, Weasley,” he gasped out while tenderly feeling his cheek for damage. No blood.

Ron was staring at his fist, shocked that he’d finally managed to land one on Malfoy . He lifted his head up at this. “What did you just say?”

“I said I was sorry. I apologized. Is that such a foreign concept to you?” The pain was fading, slowly, but Draco didn’t feel any better.

“Oh. Um, okay then.”

“Are we quite finished? My public awaits me.”

Ron looked as if he didn’t quite know how to answer this. Still gazing absently at his fist, he muttered something unintelligible and shrugged his shoulders.

Is that a yes? Draco thought. When his opponent didn’t say anything further, Draco wiped his hands on his robes and walked with as much of a swagger as he could muster to the pub’s door, turning the knob.

Inside the Three Broomsticks, there was a rush as everyone flew back to their seats and tried to look like they hadn’t witnessed the entire exchange.

“Wait!” Ron called.

Draco released his hold on the knob and turned back. “Yes, Weasley?”

Ron didn’t know what had prompted him to say that other than guilt about the punch and a feeling that there was still something left to be said. It would help if he could figure it out. But as he was unable, he stood there for a few moments, mouth working soundlessly, looking Draco up and down in a desperate attempt to find something to say. 

Draco didn’t move. He should have, but… “Well?”

“Y-your cheek,” Ron stuttered.

“It’s fine.”

“No, it’s – it’s all red and sort of puffy,” Ron said, stepping up to the shorter boy. “You don’t want to go back in there looking like that, do you? I mean,” he said quickly, “not that I’d mind if you did. Wouldn’t mind seeing the infamous Malfoy reputation take a hit.”

“Why am I not surprised? Thanks so very much for the advice, Weasel, but I can take care of myself. The victim gets all the sympathy, you know,” Draco said with narrowed eyes.

Silence.

“Come on, let me give you a hand.” 

Silence.

Then, with Draco’s wordless acquiescence, they turned as one and ducked into the clothing shop next door. The saleslady pointed them towards the washroom in the back, and Ron locked the door behind them as Draco leaned against a sink.

“Shut it,” Ron said, cutting Draco off once again. He wet a paper towel and touched it gently to Draco’s cheek. The blond hissed softly through his teeth. “Sorry,” he muttered, and continued with a lighter touch.

“Sorry.”

“You said that already.”

“For punching you, I mean.”

“Oh.” Draco wasn’t sure what to say to that. This was surprising, as his ready wit rarely failed him.

“The usual thing is to accept the apology, Malfoy.”

“Why the hell should I? You started it with false accusations against my character!”

Ron snorted. “Right, like everybody didn’t already know you’re a total womanizer.”

Draco burst out laughing. “Oh, lord, Weasley, that’s rich!”

Ron was thoroughly confused. “What are you going on about? You know it’s true.”

Draco merely looked at him. “Let’s just say that while women of all sorts line up for a chance to experience Draco Malfoy, Draco Malfoy has no interest in experiencing any of them.” Ron blinked absently a few times before it dawned on him, at which point he blinked some more, but with a different expression on his face. Draco smirked back at him. “Congratulations, you’ve discovered your brain.”

This was an unexpected development. Ron didn’t quite know what to do; he’d left off patting Draco’s face, and the soaked towel now hung loosely from his fingers. Draco continued to lean back confidently, a condescending smirk on his face.

“If you’re quite finished with your tender ministrations, I’ll be getting back to the party now.” 

Ron drew his wand and pointed it at Draco’s face. “Not so fast, Malfoy.” 

“Weasel – uh, I mean, Ron, this is really no reason to get violent, you know. We’re both modern wizards, surely you realize-”

“Sod off, I’m not going to attack you. Just need to take care of that nasty bruise on your face.” 

Malfoy relaxed. “Oh. Carry on, then.”

Silence settled on them once more, only marred by Ron’s muttered spell. The atmosphere had completely changed. In spite of what Malfoy may have thought, Ron wasn’t an idiot, and seven years of solving mysteries had honed his deductive skills. He was putting things together; it could be speculation, but then again…

He stepped back and pocketed his wand. “Am I back to my usual state of perfection?”

“Not quite.”

“What now?”

“Your hair.”

Draco jumped up and started patting his head. “What about it?”

Ron motioned, using himself as Draco’s human mirror. “It’s messed up…just there.” The other boy ran his fingers through the silvery blond hair on his left side, combing it back. “No, you missed it. Here, let me…” Ron trailed off, reaching for the fallen lock.

Everything seemed to go in slow motion. Ron didn’t stop to question Draco’s sudden cessation of motion as he stepped up to him. He’d never realized just how he towered over him before; not as much as over Harry, but still…it made Ron feel more confident, somehow, to know that at least he had one thing up on Draco. “That’s fixed it. We’re done now,” he said, glancing down but not moving.

Draco lifted his head, and their eyes met. “Are we?” 

Ron stifled a very unmanly squeak.

Then Draco burst out laughing once more. “God, Weasley,” he choked out, “I never thought you of all people would be so easy! On second thought, maybe I shouldn’t be surprised.”

“Screw you, Malfoy.”

Draco’s laughter echoed through the lavatory, and he doubled over, clutching his stomach. “I thought that’s what you wanted!” He laughed even harder at his own joke.

“I don’t know why I even bothered to help you!” Ron threw his hands in the air and turned to the door. 

“Wait!” cried Draco, attempting to compose himself. “Hang on, this explains so much!”

“You’re damned right it does, Ferret; it explains those longing looks of yours. Stay away from my best friend.”

“I thought we went over that already. I’m not interested in Hermione.”

“No, you nitwit, my other best friend.”

“Potter? Does ickle Ronniekins have a crush on The Boy Who Needs A Haircut?” He broke out into laughter again. “You’re quite safe there, mate, I’m not interested. And while I hate to disappoint you, I’m rather firmly convinced he’s straight. You might want to watch how he looks at your sister, instead.”

Ron’s eyes bugged out. “Me? Like Harry? Remind me which one of us spends all of his time staring at the bloke?”

The Eyebrow made a comeback. “What about the one that always glares back in jealousy?”

“You start it every time and you know it,” Ron replied, rolling his eyes.

“For the last bloody time, Weasel, I am not doing any kind of staring!”

“Then explain why, when I turn to look back at you, you’re always looking at me already?”

Ron’s last syllable left a ringing echo as both boys stood glaring at each other wordlessly. Draco was speechless because Ron had hit on the very thing he’d wondered about himself; Ron was waiting for an answer, his mind racing back to his previous unnerving conclusion.

After a time, he spoke: “What, no biting remark? I’m disappointed with you.” Draco didn’t respond. “Oi, you there. Hello?”

“I don’t bloody know, all right?” Draco exploded.

“What kind of an answer is that?”

“The truth.”

“But you admit that you did it.”

Silence.

“Yes. Not consciously, but…yes.”

There comes a time in every boy’s life when he suddenly finds his world turned upside down, his beliefs reversed, and even more strangely, he finds that this change was not so sudden; in fact, it has been silently happening all along, without his awareness. The only sudden part is his own realization of the change. It leaves him at an impasse; he knows it is important, but he does not know what to do about it. Quandary ensues.

Ron realized with a start that he had no idea – not one, tiny clue – about what to do next. He felt like he’d reached the edge of some great precipice, and before him was a void, waiting for…who knew what to fill it. His own mind was mixed up and empty at the same time. If that made sense. Which it didn’t. But it was the truth. And he couldn’t take his eyes off the boy in front of him. 

Draco hated not knowing what to say. Absolutely, positively loathed it with all of his being. Almost as much as he loathed the person standing in front of him, all the long way from his fiery fringe to his tattered hem. Hatred of them both was bred into him; he was of course accustomed to his father’s constant mutterings about Potter and Mudbloods, but even more common and natural than that was the knowledge that everything the Malfoy family represented was antithetical to what the Weasley family did. It was always there, at the back of his mind, and having one of them in his year had given Draco a permanent symbol for that simple yet omnipresent fact.

Draco couldn’t have known it, but almost the same thing was running through Ron’s mind, minus Harry and Muggle-borns. It was a truth universally acknowledged that the Weasleys and the Malfoys did not get along. It just was. They didn’t work together, they didn’t socialize, and they certainly didn’t make mysterious connections in clothing store washrooms. For that’s what it was, he realized – a connection. A bizarre, confusing, and thoroughly irritating one, but a connection nonetheless. 

“I’ve spent my entire life thinking about you.” Draco broke the silence.

“Hating you,” Ron continued.

“Yes. But still…”

“Still…”

Back to silence.

“You were right, you know. About me,” Ron explained. Give and take.

“What?”

“And I did have a crush on Harry for a while, but not anymore.”

Draco quirked a half-hearted smile. “And all along I thought you were in love with Granger.”

“That was before the Harry thing.”

“Oh. So you…”

“Yeah.”

Give and take. His turn now.

“How did you not know?”

Ron shrugged. “Never occurred to me. I always thought of you in the one context, you know?”

“Yeah, I know.” Pause. “What do you think of me now?”

“I think…I think I’m confused,” he admitted.

“Join the party.”

Silence. Then, just as Ron said, “I just had the craziest idea,” Draco remarked, “Feel like trying something?”

They laughed softly. Ron thought this must be the first time he’d ever seen a sincere smile on Draco’s face. A sincere smile directed at him, no less. And he wondered when he’d become Draco and not Malfoy. 

Draco couldn’t remember Ron – yes, he was Ron now - ever looking at him with anything but anger and disgust. This was possibly the first time someone had ever given him an honest smile, one that lacked ulterior motive.

Draco stepped forward, maintaining eye contact with Ron, who met him in the middle. Once again, Ron’s head was tilted down. He noticed absently the hair falling back from Draco’s face as the shorter boy looked up at him, tongue darting out to lick his lips. He would probably be feeling very stupid shortly, but Ron realized that he really didn’t care.

It was crazy; it was stupid; it made absolutely no sense; but the whole situation was so fantastic that it felt only natural to keep up the trend. There was no sound, logical reason for this to be happening, and yet it was. 

Here goes nothing. 

There comes a time in every boy’s life when he suddenly finds his world turned upside-down. There is also a moment when it rights itself again.


End file.
